


Left Overs

by Anon_omatopoeia



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Karura/Rasa, M/M, Third Kazekage/Sasori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23427247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_omatopoeia/pseuds/Anon_omatopoeia
Summary: Life is what you make it.
Relationships: Rasa/Sasori (Naruto)
Kudos: 11





	Left Overs

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @shipcat for running the awesome and much needed Rasa Mini-Bang 2020 that inspired this piece! Rasa deserved so much better!

He heard the door creak open and immediately froze. Maybe, just maybe, if he was absolutely still, they would think him dead and go away. He could hope, at least. He breathed out slowly, adding a little nasal sound for emphasis. 

“Dad.”

He remained still. If it was something small, he might yet get out of this undisturbed. Shirking his parental responsibilities like his well-being depended on it (he was ready to argue that it did) he gave an Oscar-worthy performance of a snoring vegetable. 

“Daad.” Longer and a little louder than before with a generous amount of whine. Ugh, pass, please. 

The warmth wrapped in his arms stirred, nuzzling deeper into the comforter, leaving only a small tuft of red hair poking out the top. He resisted the urge to pull it closer.

“DAD!” Came the louder, much closer, more insistent plea. Fuck. Fine.

He reluctantly opened his eyes and heaved out an audible, resigned sigh.

“What is it, Kankuro?”

“Temari is using the oven again and I think she’s burning something.”

In an instant he shot up, throwing the blanket half off the bed and leaving the man who had been snuggled up to him exposed to the cool air.

“TEMARI!” his voice rang out, trying to connect down one flight of stairs, a hallway, and over the dining table through the power of sheer alarm alone. In a few clambering strides he had crossed the room and disappeared down the hall to reach the kitchen before smoke-laden havoc could ensue.

The form left behind, recently un-earthed from his cozy haven pushed himself up in an irritated huff and looked wearily at the boy still standing in the doorway. 

“Good morning Sasha,” the boy said cheerfully, greeting him with a sunny smile.

“Good morning Kankuro,” he replied, not a wink of sleepiness or exhaustion on his visage. Rasa wasn’t the only one who knew when to play possum. 

“Why aren’t you watching your dad chew out your sister?” he asked him, suspicious that the mischievous youth wasn’t already glued to Rasa’s heels. 

Any other day and Kankuro would be camped out for a front row seat to watch his hot-headed sister get scolded by their stern father. He couldn’t really blame him for it, either. Rasa’s dad-mode rants were epic. He would lay into them with the all the colorful creativity of a seasoned drill instructor and could guilt trip his children like a nun invoking the stations of the cross to talk her way out of a ticket. The man was a verbal gymnast. Sasori thought it was one of his best qualities.

Kankuro was still standing there though, looking down at his feet and shifting his weight back and forth between them. He looked nervous.

“Is everything okay?” Sasori asked, trying to exercise patience. It was a testament to his fondness for Rasa’s children, really. Anyone else would have received far less hospitable words for loitering around him uselessly.

Kankuro looked back up at him, fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt. Sasori just watched him, counting to ten in his head in an effort to will himself more patience. Do I have something on my face?

Sensing Sasori’s growing frustration, Kankuro finally worked up the nerve to say what he had meant to tell him. “I made you something,” he said shyly. He pulled out a small envelope with flower on it and handed it over.

Sasori narrowed his eyes and shook his head, trying to figure out what his quasi-stepson was up to as he reached out and accepted the card. He eyed Kankuro curiously as he opened it, glancing down to see the words ‘Sorry for your loss’ written in fancy script on store bought stock. 

He felt his heart stop. It’s today. 

In the span of a moment his face transformed from confusion to something heavy and burdened. 

“Oh.” 

He couldn’t believe he had forgotten today. It was careless. It was selfish. Unforgivable.

He couldn’t breathe. He felt a horribly familiar crushing sensation settle over his chest as every bit of joy in him departed quickly. 

Well aware that Kankuro was still watching him from the doorway, waiting for him to say something and oblivious to Sasori’s internal struggle.

“Thank you,” he told him, though his voice came out softer than he had meant it to. The relieved smile that worked its way onto Kankuro’s face reminded him of Rasa. The thought did little to warm him today. 

Having accomplished what he had set out to do, Kankuro gave him a little wave and backed off down the hall, leaving him to sit alone with his thoughts and try not to break down.

Rasa came in moments later, the remnants of stress on his face quickly dissolving at the sight of Sasori up in bed, drowning in one of his shirts, dazed and staring off into space. He leaned down to greet him with a kiss, which Sasori didn’t return. 

He pulled away slowly, concerned, and felt Sasori’s somber mood permeate the air between them. 

“Right. It’s today isn’t it?” he sighed, sitting down on the bed next to his partner. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he gently inquired, pushing a stray strand of Sasori’s hair back behind his ear and studying his face closely.

“Rasa…I forgot,” his voice was strained and he leaned forward, covering his face with his hands. 

Rasa knew better than to try and soothe away the guilt. Sasori wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. Instead, he pulled him close, tucking his head under his chin. “Let me make you breakfast.”

***

Later that afternoon, after the rest of their blended family had been fed and dressed and after the sibling squabbles had been squashed, they departed. 

They never took the kids. This trip was more for Sasori’s benefit than his own. Although his children knew all too well how to conduct themselves in such a setting, Rasa wanted to give the quiet man beside him three less things to worry about.

The route they followed was well known to them; they traveled it together twice every year. And every time they stopped by each shop in the same order to purchase the same items, all stored together in the same canvas duffel. First the florist, then the market, then the temple kiosk. Then, only on this day and not on the other, they stopped by a small second-hand bookshop before heading to their final destination. 

Sometimes they would talk during the fifteen minutes it took to follow the last road to the city limits. This time, they didn’t. 

The mausoleum was visible before they passed through the gate. 

It was an impressive structure for such a mournful block of stone. It towered over the masses with grandeur and style, much like the man it entombed. It cast a large shadow over the rows and rows of non-descript square markers surrounding it, too small and too flat to shelter themselves from the sun, and it shaded Rasa and Sasori as they approached. 

Rasa shifted the duffel from one shoulder to the other, careful not to disturb the contents of their shopping spree and paused to follow Sasori’s lead.

The three horizontal lines engraved on the entrance greeted them indifferently and Sasori paused to trace the script with his fingers, mind drifting to some remote place that Rasa couldn’t reach. Rasa could always recognize the retreat in the way Sasori’s brow creased and his eyes lost their sharpness, unfocused on what was in front of him. But there was nothing to be done about it, so he waited. 

He wondered if the flowers gripped tightly in Sasori’s hand would snap under the pressure. But Sasori returned to the present, steadying his breath and reorienting himself. The stems endured. 

They entered the building together, pushing the heavy stone doors aside and disturbing a cloud of dust accumulated from a year’s worth of neglect. Immediately, Sasori set to work to tidy up the inner chamber.

The offering itself passed by quickly. A small prayer rug laid on the ground beneath them to pad the knees while Sasori’s nimble fingers delicately braided fresh flowers into a fragrant wreath. The speed and precision with which he worked was a skill achieved only through having done the same so many times before. 

When he finished, he set it atop the sarcophagus and continued. At the base, he lit scented incense, arranged sugared dates on a platter, and, of course, placed one trashy romance novel to add to the growing collection. 

Kneeling beside each other, their thighs brushed and Rasa nearly startled when Sasori rested his head on his shoulder. It was the first time he had done so in Tenno’s presence. 

Rasa always opted to give Sasori space when he mourned. After all, he knew quite a bit of grief himself. When they made the visit to Karura’s grave on her birthday, being affectionate with his new lover felt disrespectful. Like he had replaced her. Sasori always accompanied him to the gate but watched from a distance. Available if needed, but never intrusive. Rasa was grateful.

Tenno was different, though. His death was Rasa’s loss as well. And unlike Karura, whom he openly discussed at home, they almost never discussed his cousin. He had died the same year as Karura, and his passing had been equally unexpected, though Rasa had been too devastated over his own wife’s premature demise to mourn his cousin properly. 

Sasori never talked about him. To Rasa’s knowledge, he kept no memento of their time together, though Sasori wasn’t the most forthcoming about that sort of thing.

As they sat there now, paying their respects in Tenno’s tomb in the late afternoon, he found his thoughts were drawn more to the man beside him than the one in front of him. To the life they had built from the scraps they had been left with. The bits of happiness they had managed to cultivate in between these bouts of intense sorrow.

Connecting with someone after Karura’s death had been a slow and grueling process. He had known that he would never share anything like the bond he had with his wife again in his lifetime. And while that may be true, the one he had found with Sasori made him grateful he hadn’t completely given up looking.

Tentatively, he draped an arm around Sasori’s back, watching from his periphery for signs that his touch was unwanted here. Sasori leaned into it.

It was a small gesture, but it felt significant. Like an admission of weakness. At that, Rasa smiled.

On most days Rasa was happy. On bad days, he had an anchor, and on the worst days he had someone who loved him enough to stay. He was happy to return the favor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
